Mistakes are the Portal of Discovery
by lemondropseverus
Summary: During one cold Christmas night Constance finds out that one of her students is growing up in the worst possible way. Sequel of sorts to A Small Kindness, but can also stand on its own.


**Author's Note:**

My dear worst witch fans,

I usually don't write one-shots because I feel that I can express myself better in fully-fledged, long stories. As such, I usually discard the multiple scenarios that come to me and cannot be fitted in Fire and Ice. But now, when my time is limited and I am truthfully unable to sit down and write a full chapter for my story, I decided that I will put the metaphorical pen to paper and try to produce some worthwhile one-shots.

Thank you to those that read A Small Kindness. Again, a special thanks to those that reviewed it. Your reviews where, honestly, the most wonderful Christmas present ever: **LongVodka, Chrissiemusa, Clocher and GloriaNewt**. I tried to reply personally to your reviews but my internet time is limited as I currently find myself somewhere in the mountains.

Another big thanks and hugs to a person who knows how important she is to me: **NextChristineDaae. **

Lots of love,

Lemondrop

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Worst Witch. If I did both the show and the series of books would have been continued.

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><p><strong>Mistakes Are the Portal of Discovery <strong>

_(James Joyce)_

The girl desperately pressed the green button of her new Nokia mobile phone, hoping to heaven that this time someone would answer. Her fake long red nails, not at all conductive for texting, seemed to get in the way of her fervent pressing and she pondered for a second whether to take them out or not. It seemed silly to think about such things in the situation that she found herself. Very silly. But she supposed that her intoxicated brain could think of nothing but shallow things. With an unsteady hand she raised the fashionable purple phone to her ear, her long nails tangling themselves in her dark hair. She should have definitely taken them out. For a second her brain could focus on nothing else but the annoying, yet familiar tone and she once again hoped against hope that she would be rewarded with an answer.

"Yes…" a female voice answered and the girl took a deep breath of relief

"Miss Drill…you need to come… I am at… please…" now that someone had answered she found that the fuzzy brain was preventing her form forming a clear, concise sentence.

"This…n… Mi…Dri… " the girl tried to focus on what the voice had said but she was unable to. Quite frankly, she had no idea if the quiet background static noise, indicating a lack of coverage, or the alcohol coursing through her veins was to blame.

"Please Miss Drill, you need to come…I am at…"she said the address as clearly as she could and as clearly as she could remember and she hoped that the woman got the urgency of the message.

"W'at h…ned? "

"Please, Miss Drill. You need to come… please… something really, really bad, happened…please…"she felt her eyes fill with tears of panic and she once again desperately tried to keep her mind as focused and coherent as she could.

"W'at h…ned? "

"Please, Miss Drill… I think… I think… I killed a man…" her voice together with her hand shook violently at the admission and she could hear nothing but the annoying static sound before the line went dead. With nothing but silence surrounding her in the cheap motel room, the girl placed her head on her knees and cried.

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><p>Constance Hardbroom took a deep, calming breath and starred at the small black device, disgust and fear etched across her sharp features. When Imogen Drill had left for a romantic getaway with her boyfriend Serge and had announced that she would leave her portable communication device behind, saying that she would buy something called a "prepaid" and that she would contact them using that, the deputy had thought nothing of it. Even when the woman had placed the blasted thing in the staff room and respectfully asked Miss Cackle to answer any calls she might get, the potion mistress had not protested, knowing too little of such non-magical devices to form a conclusive, firm argument against it. But now, after the blasted thing had made grotesque sounds for more than half an hour in the dead of the night and she had had that particularly disturbing conversation, she could see the benefits of forcing the gym mistress to take the device out of the castle.<p>

The deputy took yet another calming breath and she passed a nervous hand through her long dark hair, the long, soft curls tangling themselves in the pale fingers. She once again looked accusingly at the small phone that she had dropped on the staff room carpet. When she had initially reached the screeching contraption and had seen the name on the phone's small display she had pondered not answering it. After all, what could Enid Nightshade have to say to her gym mistress at two o'clock in the morning, during the winter holiday? She had initially chosen to answer in order to give the rude girl a piece of her mind. But now, when she had heard the young distraught voice, Miss Hardbroom could admit to herself that she was at a loss. What should she do? Should she simply ignore the call as a prank and go back to bed? Or should she simply give it credence and go check on the girl? She read the address she had instinctively written down on a stray piece of paper and realized that it was in a part of town she had never visited. In the bad part of town. Even if her visits to the closest largest city to the academy were limited, once cannot live in a place for twenty years without acquiring at least a modicum of information about it. As such, she was well aware that if Enid was indeed in the place that she said she was, there was a high chance that she was in great trouble.

Knowing that the risks of not going to check on the girl were too great to even quantify Constance sighted and proceeded towards her room to take her winter cloak and boots. Had she been another kind of teacher, maybe the kind of uncaring, unfeeling teacher that she strived to portray every day in class, she would have probably left the girl to her own devices. But she was not. In spite of the ice queen mask she put on daily, when she had heard the girl's panicked voice, Constance's heart had given a painful jolt. As she was fastening the clasp of her forest green winter cloak and walked towards the broom shed as quietly as possible, as to not wake Miss Cackle, the other occupant of the castle, she silently hoped that whatever trouble Enid found herself in, she would be alright.

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><p>Enid looked at the fallen body of the young man and she pondered taking yet another swing of the bottle of vodka which lay undisturbed on the dirty white sheets. She quickly decided against it knowing that when Miss Drill arrived -if she arrived- she would have enough to explain without being more smashed than she already was. That was probably the only rational decision she had made that night. Once again she curled up against the wall, not standing to look upon the sight of the man sprawled on the floor, a trickle of blood coming from his temple. The silence of the room was momentarily disturbed by the creak of the door and the girl could not bring herself to look up. Had her saviour come already? With a surge of courage she looked up and her eyes were met with a sight she did not expect to see.<p>

Miss Hardbroom, her formidable, mean, straight-laced form tutor, stood in the doorway of the cheap hotel room wet and shivering slightly, probably from broomstick travel in the cold winter night. Her famous purple silk pyjamas were covered by her dark green cloak and were plastered against her bony frame and her long hair was pulled in a ponytail which was as wet and limp as her clothes. Had it not been such a dire situation, she would have found the sight quite comical. Instead she could feel her heart quicken and the trembling of her hands return. She had called Miss Drill knowing that she was the least likely to judge and the most likely to understand and help her. Her parents weren't like that. For starters, she knew that it was at least a ninety percent chance of them not answering. Both Nightshades were doctors at one of the most prestigious Magical Healing Institutes in England and they were both working. Yes, her fabulous parents were indeed working on Christmas Night, choosing the company of sick, dying patients above that of their only daughter. And even if, by some miracle, they had answered, Enid wasn't sure that she would have been able to stand the look of disappointment in her mother's eyes or the angry shake of her father's head. As such, she had called one of the few adult figures that she was comfortable with. But now, being faced with the sight of her form tutor, one of the few people in the world that she liked less than her own parents, she regretted her decision.

"She is in Canada for the holiday" Miss Hardbroom said calmly, her voice much gentler than the one she usually used in class, answering the girl's unvoiced question.

For the umpteenth time that night Constance found herself take a calming breath and her heart give the now-familiar jolt of pain at the sight of her third year student. Enid Nightshade had never been one of her favourites, but truth be told, no one apart from Ethel Hallow was. Yet, seeing the girl as she was now, dressed in a shot mini-skirt that was barely covering her legs, dark make-up and red lipstick smudged by tears, smelling alcohol on her breath and cheap perfume on her clothes, made her angry. Not at the student but at the situation. What kind of world were they living in if a girl of fifteen, a child, resorted to wearing such clothes and finding herself in such a situation, as cry of attention? Or at least she suspected it to be a cry for attention. For a second she felt a pang of guilt. Maybe if she had paid more attention to the girl, as a form tutor should, she would have seen the signs. Maybe she would have been able to get close to the girl and prevent such happenings. Was this the first time that Enid had found it acceptable to consume alcohol? Form the sheer amount of empty bottles on the floor and the fact that the girl wasn't in a coma, she could infer that she had built a certain tolerance to alcohol and hence it wasn't the first time. When had this started? When did one of her girls grow up in such a way?

"Who is he?" Constance asked in the same even voice, trying to dispel any trace of feeling from her tone, not wanting to agitate her student.

"I have no idea… I think his name is Aiden" she offered in a small voice "I picked him up in a club nearby" she followed at seeing her form tutor's raised eyebrow.

"I see…" Constance said quietly, trying to hide her disapproval as much as she could. The girl was distraught enough without her amplifying it.

Constance walked to the body of the young man and found that she had to fight a deep feeling of revulsion in order to keep her composure. The man was no older than twenty and she suspected that he wasn't aware of how young the girl he had taken to the motel room was. After all, as much as she hated to admit it, Enid dressed as she was, looked like a prostitute of twenty rather than a girl of fifteen. She placed two bony fingers on the man's jugular vein and noticed, to her relief, that he had a pulse. She cast a quick healing charm on the man's head wound and removed the drying blood. Without the blood the man would wake up the next day believing that he had passed out from alcohol consumption.

"He isn't dead, Enid. Just unconscious" she declared and the student burst into tears. Tears of relief. Constance approached the girl and uncharacteristically placed a hand of comfort on her back. For a moment, Enid flinched at the contact but her fuzzy brain soon found it to be soothing and she instinctively leaned into the touch. When she had been much younger her mother used to touch her like that. "What happened?" the teacher asked, her thin hands tracing comforting, even circles on the girl's back.

"I went to this place with some friends… and…" Enid pondered not answering for a second but she felt her mouth move before she could stop it. Her teacher smelled so good. Of dry flowers and fruits. She smelled like the potions lab. She smelled like Cackle's. Like home. "I met him there… he seemed quite cute and we had some drinks together. Then he asked me if I wanted to go somewhere with him… I knew what he wanted… I don't know why I said yes… but I did and I went with him. We bought some vodka and came back here… we had some laughs and drinks and then he started to…" Enid's voice broke for a moment and Constance was well aware what the man had started to do and she had no desire to hear it. Yet, she was also aware that it would do the girl good to talk about it and as such she kept quiet, waiting for her to compose herself.

"Well he started to take of his clothes… and then mine… and well… you know…" she could not believe that she was having this conversation with Miss Hardbroom of all people. Yet, the woman seemed so soothing and she was the only comforting element in the room. "The thing is… it hurt… it hurt so badly…" she whispered and Constance tightened her grip around the sobbing girl and instinctively closed her eyes. It was bad enough that Enid, a girl of barely fifteen had started her sexual life, but to start it in such a way? With a complete stranger while being more drunk than sober?

"I told him to stop… " she continued with a shuddering breath "but he wouldn't… and it hurt so badly… I just pushed him… but some sparkles came out and he hit the wall…" she finished and a fresh flow of tears fell unrestrained from her eyes as she looked at the body of the unresponsive young man.

Constance didn't say anything partly because she knew that it wasn't the moment to say something and partly because she did not trust herself to speak. Her heart went out to the girl who was not a sobbing mess in her arms and desperately clung to the purple silk of her pyjamas. She knew that in the morning, when sober and with a potentially massive hangover, Enid will regret confessing everything to her form tutor, but for now she had the feeling that she was the only thing that was keeping the girl from making even more, potentially fatal, mistakes. As such, she just stood there, making circles on the girl's back and hoped that she would at least be calm enough to be taken home. She looked at the girl and started caressing her long black hair. The action seemed to be calming her even more and Constance could not help but wonder why it was Imogen that the student had tried to call and not her parents. As far as she knew, the Nightshade family was a well-respected one and both parents were upstanding members of the magical society.

"I want home" Enid said quietly and Constance knew exactly what the girl was implying, her previous question answered. When Enid had pronounced the word "home" she had instinctively clung to her teacher even more. As such the potion mistress inferred that for the student her home was the academy rather than her own house. She could surely relate to that for in her own mind the house that was left to her by her parents was just that: an empty house. Yet, she chose to misunderstand the girl's words for, no matter how careless they were, the Nightshade's would surely miss their daughter in the morning if she took her to the academy.

"Let's go…" Miss Hardbroom said calmly nudging the girl to walk towards the door while she put a steadying hand on her shoulder.

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><p>The flight to the Nightshade's house was surprisingly short and Enid had little time to study her form tutor. While she sat on the woman's polished broomstick, her hands circled around her teacher's waits she could not help but wonder if she ever ate. Unlike in the room, where Miss Hardbroom had seemed soft, now, on the broom, in the cold winter, she could feel every single bone that the woman had and her form tutor seemed almost skeletal. Enid wondered if she was mad, not really wanting to know what the punishment for her actions would be if she was indeed angry. But nothing close to anger had passed on the woman's face during the entire ordeal and the student was grateful for that. If nothing else, Miss Hardbroom had seemed uncharacteristically caring and kind. The adult landed the broom gracefully and helped Enid to the front door where the girl opened it.<p>

"Please, go wash your face…" Constance commanded softly, her words more of a request rather than an order, and the girl quietly did as she had been told.

The potion mistress followed her now make-up free student to her room while taking in the surroundings. The house was neither big nor small. It was a medium-sized house of an upper-middle class family. It oddly looked like the house in which she had grown up. The furniture was modern and the appliances seemed top notch. The yellow walls of the hallway were decorated with multiple family portraits from which she could derive a certain sense of falsity. Despite the big smiles and apparently joyful expressions, none of the members of the family seemed truly happy to be taking those particular photos. It was when she entered what she believed to be Enid's room that she truly understood why the girl was unable to refer to this house as her home. The pink painted walls, white princess-like white furniture and mass of porcelain dolls on shelves, didn't represent the girl that was now propped on a flowery bed spread. She was sadly unable to give a clear and concise picture of how Enid's room should have been like, for she knew her student too little for that, but what she could say was that the girl was ill-fitted in such a princess-like, girly scenario. Sensing what her teacher was thinking and giving a sigh of approval, Enid crawled inside the soft covers of her bed, too tired to defend or accuse her mother's interior design skills.

"I will write to your parents and tell them that you have offered to help with some potion experiments for extra credit. Tomorrow you will be able to return to Cackle's." Miss Hardbroom said calmly pulling the covers of the bed up to the girl's chin.

"Thank you, Miss… for… for everything" Enid stuttered quietly, the words unfamiliar on her tongue, looking up at her form tutor with extreme gratitude. Being tucked in by Miss Hardbroom? Just a few hours before she would have scoffed at the idea comparing it with being tucked in by a very volatile dragon. But now she felt an extreme sense of calm and protection in her teacher's presence. As she drifted off to sleep under her potion mistress' watchful eye, her eyelids closing despite her better efforts, she could not help but feel that maybe she had been too quick to judge the woman. Maybe they all have been.

Constance lingered for a few moments and watched the young child- _teenager _she mentally corrected herself- fall asleep. A small smile of satisfaction appeared on her face, breaking the look of dourness that she had accustomed the world with. Her girl was safe.

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><p>AN: I hope you have enjoyed this small fic and that whatever commentary you might have to it you will send it through your reviews or PMs.<p>

Lots of love,

Lemondrop


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